Sub Zero
by amitai
Summary: Alex is partnered with another boy, a 16 year old who thinks his age makes him better than Alex. When the two of them are put in the field, however, how is he going to cope?
1. Chapter 1

Very short prologue; please review and tell me if I should continue with it!

I feel like I should be writing something serious and mature - but hell, this is much mroe fun. I hope you enjoy it!

* * *

Alex hated going to the Royal and General Bank. It wasn't like he was ever told anything he wanted to hear while he was there, anyway; in that respect, it was rather like school. He always came away from the Royal and General feeling just as tired as he did after a long day of school – with football practice. Organised sports generally didn't end up with death counts, though.

The unsmiling agent who met him gave him a brief once-over, asked for ID, then took him up to the office where Alan Blunt and Mrs. Jones would be waiting for him. If Alex didn't know better, he'd swear that they did nothing but wait for him.

"Alex." Alan Blunt nodded. Alex nodded back – and then realising that the man was merely dismissing the agent who'd brought him up. "Sit down."

Sighing Alex took the seat that he'd been offered.

"You did very well in your last mission, Alex." Mrs. Jones offered. "Despite all the drawbacks of your situation. If we'd known, of course, we would never have sent you with…"

"Yes, you would." Alex said, dispassionately. "If you'd known how dangerous it was, you would just have told me that I was going, rather than asking. Children like Paul and me, we don't figure. You'd have manipulated both of us."

"Come on, Alex." Blunt said, and for one wild moment, Alex believed that the man was going to try and argue with him, when they all knew it was true. Mrs. Jones was flustered, embarrassed by the truth of what Alex had said. But Blunt and Alex were staring at each other, and the moment Alex met the man's flinty eyes, he knew that they both acknowledged the statement for what it was. "You can hardly call yourself a child any longer."

Alex bowed his head. "No." he agreed, bitterly. "I would suppose not."

"Which is exactly why we've decided to lighten the burden somewhat." Mrs. Jones jumped in. "We've all decided that this is a little much for you. So we've been training another agent like you, and he'll go with you on any missions that you're needed on from now on."

Alex's head snapped up. "What the hell are you talking about!" he said, angrily. "You've forced some other poor guy through what I've been through?"

"Obviously, he doesn't have the quite the experience that you've had." Blunt agreed, analytically, "But given time…"

Alex looked at the pair of them, safe behind their desk, with cold dislike. "What did you get this kid on? How did you make _him_ join you? What, did you kill his parents, and hold a gun to his head?"

"Matt volunteered." Blunt replied, coldly.

"Then he's probably insane." Alex returned, equally coldly. There was a pause. Finally, Alex spoke up again. "If you want to ruin someone else's life, fine. I don't care anymore. But don't pretend like you're doing it for me, because it's a lie – you've done screw all of nothing for me so far, but you haven't outright lied to me yet. Half-truths, yes, but no lies. Use this Matt kid. But don't tell me that he's here for my benefit."

He stood up, fully intending to leave straight away.

"Sit down, Alex." Blunt ordered.

Mrs. Jones, seeing that Alex wasn't taking to this too well, said, softly. "We're sending you to a re-evaluation camp. Matt passed his training two weeks ago – it was more extensive than yours, as we had more time…"

"Oh, so you got him in cold-blood then, did you?" Alex asked, coolly. Mrs. Jones ignored him.

"So you should be of a level standard. We want to compare you."

"Hargreaves…" Blunt began

"Matthew." Mrs. Jones explained. "Matthew Hargreaves."

"Hargreaves is two years older than you, so he may have the edge on you." Blunt said, softly. "We just want to see which of you performs best."

"Sure. Performing animals." Alex stood up, and shook his head. "I'll do it, because you're not going to give me a choice. But no matter how this goes, you're not going to know how he acts under real pressure." He walked to the door. Thinking of something else, he almost didn't say it, because he would sound so childish. But then, there was no harm in being honest with these people, even if they weren't honest with him. "I don't like this." He said, softly. "And we won't work well together." The twisted the door handle. "I'll see myself out."

* * *

Please leave a review. Just don't flame me, because I will put them out with my tears, and send you my therapy bill.


	2. Chapter 2

Well, finally, I've updated this. I'd really appreciate it if you told me what you thought!

DISCLAIMER: Surprisingly enough, still not mine.

* * *

Alex knew, from the moment he saw him, that Matt Hargreaves didn't have it in him to be a spy.

It wasn't that he was stupid, or even that he was unfit – just that he wouldn't make a good spy. Alex couldn't have said how he knew that, just that he did. He lacked the instinct that had saved his own life so many times, Alex could see it. He was an ordinary school boy – maybe with some special talents, maybe he was an exceptional schoolboy – but he was going to take time to learn the rigid, unbreakable willpower and the unflinching determination which made a good spy.

Wolf had it. Ian Rider had had it. Alex had it. Yassen Gregorovich, Sabina Pleasure, to a certain extent. Even some of the truly evil people Alex had met had had it – Julia Rothman, Dr. Grief. Matt Hargreaves did not. And he didn't have the time to learn it, either.

The first time Alex met him, he was wearing his combat clothes from the SAS camp – the huge camouflage trousers, the blistering boots. Alex's eyes narrowed to see that Matt had been allowed to keep his own T-shirt, a leniency which Alex – two years younger than this boy – had been denied. But he kept his mouth shut. He wasn't going to talk to this boy, not even to complain. He didn't want to look like he was accepting this in any way at all.

"So you're the kid." Matt said, his voice stiff with arrogance and condescension. Alex watched him with passive dislike. "The kid who's supposed to be as good as me."

"Yeah." Alex didn't bother correcting him. "That's me."

"So," Matt turned to the muscled black sergeant Alex remembered from his own time at boot camp. "What do we do first?"

"Combat." The man said, shortly, looking piercingly at Alex. Alex stared back, blank-eyed. "You're both black belts – I think, Alex, that you're Second Dan by now, aren't you?" Matt flicked him a brief, disbelieving glance. Alex nodded, still silent. "Then you may have a slight edge on Matt. Don't get too cocky, though." They stood there for a few seconds longer. "Well, what are you waiting for?" the man snapped, "Go and change!"

* * *

Alex stared at himself in the mirror of the changing room in the large manor house on whose ground the SAS training camp was based. In his white suit, large to allow ease of movement and pristine to show purity of intention, he looked very small and very young. He was also, surprisingly enough, slightly nervous.

It had been nearly six months since he had sparred against anyone in his age group, of a lesser ability. Everyone he had fought against – even those against whom he had won – were more skilled than him, stronger and older. Matt might, therefore, turn out to be a problem. Alex had no idea how to gauge how hard to fight against him.

It took him a full minute to decide not to go full out unless the other boy did, and by the time he had made that decision, the sergeant was banging on the door.

"Hurry up, Cub, we haven't got the time for you to make yourself look beautiful!" the man yelled, and Alex sighed, and followed the man down to the training hall.

The fight was an ugly one from the word 'go', even though it was blessedly short.

After bowing to each other, touching hands and assuming the ready position, Matt was the first to lash out. The strength of his kick assured Alex that the other boy wasn't fighting flat out just yet, so his answering block, though prompt, wasn't at full strength either.

"Come on, boys!" the sergeant shouted at them, "Fight like this is the real world!"

Matt took this more to heart than Alex, and his palm-heel strike would have knocked Alex's teeth out if it had made contact – but Alex, seeing the other boy's palm coming towards him, allowed years of training and a year of real combat to take over, dodged, and sank a fist into his gut.

Matthew doubled up, and Alex wasted no time in bringing his knee up so that the other boy's face connected with it, breaking his nose and spreading blood on the younger boy's white trousers. Matt's face shot up, and Alex delivered a round house kick to his chest which sent him flying. Then, determined to end this as quickly as possible, he grabbed the front of Matthew's top, and pushed him backwards onto the floor. When the other boy was lying, completely vulnerable, on the floor, Alex placed his foot gently over his neck, keeping him there with the threat that Alex could easily strangle him or break his neck.

"Fight over!" the sergeant said, looking at Alex in surprise. "You've improved, Cub – I'm impressed. As for you," this last was addressed to Matthew, "You'd better go and see the doctors, get stitched up. You two are running the assault course next."

Matthew staggered off – Alex was surprised that he made no complaint, but assumed that he'd been given the same sort of training he himself had had, and had been taught not to complain. The sergeant ordered him to go and change again – "And don't take so damn long about it this time!" – and meet him out by the assault course.

* * *

When Alex arrived, Matt was apparently still with the doctors, and it was just him and the sergeant there. They waited in an uncomfortable silence for a few moments, until the sergeant said, disinterestedly,

"So, what you been doing, Cub?"

"What I'm told to do." Alex replied, shortly.

"They send you on a lot of missions?"

"Whenever they need cover." The boy said, quietly, "Terrorists and anti-English governments don't expect children to come in with the spies, so I'm the perfect cover. Family."

"So what sort of thing have you been doing, then?" the sergeant looked at him for the first time, and Alex smiled sarcastically.

"You want me to tell you so that you can tell me that I'm not allowed to tell you. But I know I'm not allowed to, so I'm not even going to try."

"Very good, Cub."

They waited in silence for Matt to arrive. When he did, the sergeant, giving no thought for the other boy's injuries, placed them side by side at the beginning of the course, and sent them off.

The course was a kilometre and a half long, including tunnels to crawl through, ropes and walls to climb, pits to swing across, and rough terrain to cross.

Alex had done this course in seventeen minutes after a week of training; a combination of grim determination, resignation and fitness had got him across it, and he had enjoyed it about as much as he would have enjoyed his own funeral. On the other hand, the only thing which the last year or so had done was increase his determination, resignation and fitness, so he was perfectly capable of doing this course.

He had faced challenges worse than this, and he was surprised to realise that this wasn't something which bothered him any more. When he'd been training before, this had been his inanimate nemesis (Wolf being the animate one). Now, something as simple as this held no fear for him.

He got across it in just under nineteen minutes, and found Matt waiting for him, panting but smug, at the other end. He sighed. Matt had a point to prove with him now, and he wasn't going to let it go.

They slid through the rest of the tests, tactical, linguistic and physical, in a sort of one-sided competitiveness, where Matt desperately tried to beat Alex, and Alex just let him get on with it. It must have been infuriating for Matt, Alex reflected with an inward smirk, that Alex often managed to do just as well as him – or better – without appearing to really try.

* * *

They were driven down to London that evening; Alex slept, while Matt fumed on the other side of the car. Just before they parted, in front of the Royal and General, Matt grabbed Alex's arm, and muttered,

"You're not better than me."

"I never said I was." Alex told him coolly, wrenching his arm away.

"You act like it." Matt told him, the faint hint of a whine in his voice, and Alex was reminded once again just how young Matt really was – even if he was physically older than Alex.

* * *

"We're not supposed to competing against each other." Alex reminded him, softly. "I'll see you whenever we're sent on a mission together, Matt."

He left the other boy standing in front of the bank, and didn't think about him again, until two weeks later, when the summons from Alan Blunt finally came.

* * *

Well? What'd you think?

Thanks to:

**Sara Phoenix, Carline, musicsage, ShadowSpy, Isilthrar, Mpro1, soldierx, **and **Sootsprite**. Your reviews meant a lot.

I'm done. ami xxx


	3. Chapter 3

Well, this has been a _ridiculously_ long time a-coming, but it's here now. Enjoy. And, apologies for the spurious plotline/assignment. But, I'm rather fond of Luc.

You'll find out.

DISCLAIMER: Well, I did ask Mr. Horowitz nicely, but he wouldn't give the characters to me. He just let me borrow them.

* * *

Alex had two blissful weeks of normalcy; he was given detention for not paying attention in class, battled with his maths homework, and struggled to catch up with his coursework, and enjoyed every second of it, just for the sheer novelty value. His problems were usually along the lines of preventing nuclear warfare. It was nice to have others to deal with.

Then, late on that Friday, the phone rang.

Jack and Alex were in the middle of supper, and Jack had picked it up, grumbling the whole time about bad timing people had, and how unfair it was that they had to choose to ring now.

A few terse, unfriendly words were exchanged, then Jack came back into the kitchen, and sat down with a frown. "It's for you. Alan Blunt's secretary, I think."

He went into the hall, and picked up the phone, which was lying on the table. "Hallo?" he said, a little warily.

"Alex Rider?"

"Yes. Who is this?"

"I'm Emma Gibson. I work for the Royal and General."

Alex sighed. "Yes?"

"I'm just ringing to ask you whether you can come in tomorrow morning? To the bank, I mean. There are a few questions we need you to answer about your uncle's legacy to you. Would eight o'clock be alright for you?"

Alex frowned, knowing she couldn't see it, but unable to stop himself. "No, actually." He said, a little frigidly. "It's a school morning. I've got Biology, and I'm already behind with my coursework, due to all my… illnesses."

"The Bank will send a car."

"Yes, thank you, but I can't come tomorrow." He repeated, resisting the urge to snap it, and sound rude.

"It's an extremely urgent problem. Also, your guardian, Miss Starbright? We may have to talk to you about the renewal of her visa…"

Alex grimaced, but then a thought struck him. "Well, she should probably be the one to talk to you about that… maybe if she came in with me… After all, it wouldn't be legal to go behind her back, would it? And, you know, I think she's applied for renewal now; how much influence would you have on an already-processing visa application?" There was a pause on the other end of the line, and Alex grinned, making a mental note to talk to Jack about her visa. But for the moment, revenge was sweet; why should manipulation be a one way thing, anyway?

"Alright, Mr. Rider." The secretary sounded rather put-out, her voice cold. Alex grinned again, resisting the urge to cheer; a little victory, maybe, but more than he'd ever scored against MI6 before. "Can you come in on Saturday morning? Please bring a back pack of some sort." A short pause. "We'll send a car." She said, finally.

"Saturday morning would be fine, Miss Gibson. I'll take the Tube."

He put the phone down without waiting for a reply.

Jack looked up as he re-entered the kitchen. "MI6 again?" she asked, and he nodded. "Why can't they just bloody well leave you alone? Don't they get that you're a teenager, and you have a life you need to lead, rather than being dragged across the globe to be used as some sort of shield?"

Alex shrugged. "I dunno. But they've got a new toy to play with now, and everyone knows that toys are no fun if you don't play with them."

"What do you mean?"

"They've trained someone else like me. Matt, I think. Or maybe Mark. Anyway, they're going to want to put him in the field, and I guess they'll put me in with him, just to help him. God, he's gonna hate that." He added, grinning. "Might be fun, after all."

"That poor boy." Jack said, sympathetically, forking up some spinach. "Is he an orphan too?"

"Nope. He volunteered for this, I wouldn't feel to sorry for him. And anyway, if he turns out to be good at this, I get to 'retire', so there's an upside to everything." Thinking about it brought a rare grin to Alex's face. "You never know, this could be the last thing I ever have to do." He remembered his initial impression of Matthew, and the grin slid off his face. "Or, then again, maybe not."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean," Alex said, quietly, cutting a potato in half to let it cool, without looking at Jack, "He hasn't got it in him to be a spy."

"Alex, before all this started, I wouldn't have said _you_ had it in you to be a spy." Jack pointed out, reasonably. "Yes, you were fit and healthy, and you spoke however-many different languages, and you had more luck and curiosity than should be allowed, but I wouldn't have automatically equated those things to you being a natural spy. I thought you wanted to be a footballer."

"I wouldn't exactly say I 'wanted' to be a spy." Alex muttered. "I got coerced into it."

"How?" Jack asked, taking another mouthful.

"Various things." He said, slowly. "Um… Jack?" She nodded at him to show she was listening, her mouth full. "When does your visa run out?"

She swallowed, and stared at him for a couple of seconds. Mentally, he kicked himself; Jack was far from being stupid, and she had to have put two and two together. "They threatened you with deporting me?" she asked, eventually, in a very, very quiet voice, that Alex recognised as the calm before the storm. He nodded, with a small shrug. "Well, then." She said, tightly. "Anything else?"

"Well, Ian left everything to me; as we found out, at the reading of the will." Alex shifted, uncomfortably. "But, until I turn eighteen – or twenty one, I forget which – they hold it all in trust. They were going to…" he glanced at her; the look on her face told him that he didn't need to continue. "Well, yeah." He ended, rather lamely.

"OK." Jack said, nodding sharply. "Well, tomorrow, I'll go down and re-apply for my visa, so they can't hold _that_ over your head. Unless…" she looked suddenly doubtful, "Can they bar a visa application?"

"They're not going to try, for a while – long enough for it to get through, I'd imagine." Alex shrugged.

"It takes about thirteen weeks, if you're a student." She bit her lip, "But, of course, I'm not any more. It might take the same amount of time, I don't know. I'll look into it." She looked at him, and smiled at his worried face. "Hey, don't worry, OK, Alex? I'll worry about this thing. And when that's done, I'll take steps to finding out how we can deal with this 'trust' they've got over this house, and everything else."

"Aren't visa applications, quite…" he paused, "Um, expensive?"

Jack laughed a little, though the tightness that Alex recognised as anger hadn't entirely left her posture, and there was a slight ring of defiance in her voice as she said, almost-lightly, "Alex, your uncle employed me as a live in help six years ago; and I've had wages for six year. I've got enough to cover a visa application – even a non-student one." She smiled at him, again. "I love you dearly, Al, and I'd do it for free, except we'd have very little to live on if I did."

Alex nodded, rather awkwardly, and she changed the subject, returning to her forgotten meal, and saying, as she did so, "So, this other boy – Matt?" he nodded, "You said that if he's good, you won't have to do this anymore?"

"Possibly. They might just recruit more and more kids. But, I guess, the more they get, the less they'll use me, so I can disapprove, but I'm not going to complain." Alex shrugged again.

"Fair enough." Jack nodded. "And – sorry, couldn't help overhearing – they want to see you this Saturday?"

"Yeah."

"Another assignment?" she asked, with a long suffering sigh. Alex nodded.

"Well, probably." He added, fairly

Jack shrugged. "Well, I guess there's nothing either of us can do – for the moment. I'll ask Tom to get your homework for you."

Alex nodded, unsure whether he should be grateful or not. Very little more was said.

* * *

Saturday arrived all too swiftly for Alex's tastes; he would have welcomed it if he never had to set foot inside the Royal and General Bank, but he wasn't stupid enough to ignore a direct summons.

He was met at the door, and escorted up to Blunt's office, where Matt was already sat, waiting, a distinct air of smugness around him. Alex sighed; apparently his new 'colleague' hadn't grown out of this self-created competition the way Alex had hoped he would.

"Alex." Blunt said, with his typical, almost off-putting directness. "Sit down." Silently, Alex pulled up the chair next to Matt, with a half-glance at Mrs. Jones, who was watching him carefully. Briefly, he wondered if she ever protested against the idea of child spies – whether she had voiced her concern over bringing in Matt, at least. After all, one child spy could be called opportunism. Two was deliberate exploitation. And from what he'd learnt about Mrs. Jones and her own children during his Scorpia 'assignment', he couldn't help but question, at least in his own mind, whether she had totally suppressed all her maternal instincts to the point where it didn't bother her that she was sending two children to semi-certain death.

"Two days ago, the President of United Steelworks, Jonathon Milroy, was taken ill." Blunt began, with his typical brusqueness, and Alex dragged his attention back to the 'meeting'. "He died yesterday." Alex bit back a sarcastic rejoinder, and saw that Matt was listening eagerly. He managed to stop himself rolling his eyes. "He was replaced by a man called Pierre-Philippe Girard."

Alex raised an eyebrow, waiting for them to get to the point. "And?"

Blunt frowned at him. "Milroy was diagnosed with gastric flu, when he died, and the body was cremated before any further tests could be done on him."

"So, Girard murdered him, gave him arsenic, or something." Alex said, impatiently. "What else? What do you need us for?"

Matt gave him a glance almost as disapproving as Blunt's was acerbic. Alex resisted the urge to sigh.

"Girard's ascent through the ranks of United Steelworks has been littered with circumstantial deaths." Blunt continued, dispassionately. "The French government has had their eye on him for a while, but there has never been any concrete evidence against him; and all of the people who've died have been diagnosed with seemingly natural deaths, generally some sort of gastric problem, or kidney failure; in fact, none of these deaths would be at all suspicious, were it not for the fact that the only person who stood to, and did, gain, was Girard."

"He's power mad." Alex surmised, flatly. "It's a little obsessive, but it doesn't need spies."

"Immediately as he became President of the company, he cancelled several long-standing orders with various firms." Blunt continued, quietly, as if he hadn't heard. "Privately owned French companies are required to submit documentation to the government detailing their expenditure, and their income. Girard did this – but in a routine governmental check of his factory, several of his claims about them didn't add up. He covered himself well enough, but it raised suspicions."

"And you want us to find out what he's doing with 'United Steelworks'?" Alex said, raising an eyebrow.

"French policemen were sent in." Mrs. Jones said, briefly. "But they – died. It was claimed they had a skiing accident."

"They might have done."

"Neither of them skied." Blunt replied, shortly.

"Why does this involve _British_ spies?" Alex asked, pointedly.

Blunt looked at him coldly for a few moments. "That's what we're asking you to find out."

Alex sighed. He hadn't really been expecting a detailed answer.

"We've got your briefings here." Mrs. Jones said, softly, after a brief pause, producing two beige folders which she'd been holding on her lap. "I assume you both brought bags, as we asked you to?" Matt held his up; Alex simply nodded. "Good. You're leaving this Wednesday; we'll provide your schools with reasons. Once you've read the details in those files, and memorised them, you will have to destroy them, is that clear?" Two nods, and Alex noticed, out of the corner of his eye, that Matt glanced at him, very slightly, as that was said.

"You'll be working with a member of our own organisation, and some from the DGSE…"

"I'm sorry?" Matt interrupted. Unconsciously, Alex stiffened, waiting for some sort of explosion – but Blunt just grimaced slightly, and said, slowly,

"The '_Direction Générale de la Sécurité Extérieure_'," Alex noted in passing that Blunt had a flawless French accent. "The French Secret Service. You do both speak French fluently, yes?" Again, two identical nods. "Good." He pressed a button on his desk, and said, quietly, "Send them in."

There was a couple of seconds silence, before the door opened, and two people entered, a man and a woman. Alex stood up, without really thinking about it, and saw Matt follow suit a couple of seconds later. The woman held out her hand first.

"Joanne Armitage." She said, shaking Alex's hand, firmly, and raising a questioning eyebrow at him.

"Alex Rider." He said, giving her a small, tight smile.

"Luc Moreau. I suppose you're my son?" The man said, dark, faintly amused eyes looking at him critically, as he also shook Alex's hand. His name was French. His accent wasn't.

Alex shrugged. "If you say so." He replied. "We haven't quite got that far in the briefing."

"We're supposed to play happy families." Armitage said, with a faint, lopsided smile. "And we've also been told…" she glanced at Blunt, and looked back at Alex with a tiny, hardly noticeable shrug, her smile widening fractionally. "Well – maybe later."

"You'll be staying with Moreau and Armitage for the next few days." Mrs. Jones told them; her voice was gentle, but her eyes were sharp. "You are, as Armitage said, a family; she has just been given a job at United Steelworks. Moreau is working as a ski instructor." She looked at the pair of them, carefully. "You've been enrolled in the local schools – you'll find the details of your family, and past life, in your files."

"The reason we're sending you," Blunt cut in, his voice bland, "is because we know that a pair of adults turning up will look suspicious; with children, they are nothing more than an ordinary family. Any problems you have with French can be passed of due to your long stay in England – as will explain your fluent English." He nodded at Moreau, who inclined his head. Only Alex noticed the faint hint of laughter in his eyes as he did it.

"You'll be travelling with various bits of furniture, the same as a normal family would when they were moving; you'll find clothes and books and everything else you might need to pack at the house you'll be staying in for the next few days."

Alex could hear the dismissal in her voice, and turned to go, as did the others.

"Alex." Mrs. Jones said, quietly, "A word, please."

He paused, waiting while the others filed out, then turned to them, his face cold. "Yes?"

"You'll need to go and see Smithers." She told him. "He'll give you various things he's designed for you…"

"I thought Matt and I were just there for cover?" he asked, coolly. "What do we need gadgets for? And why isn't Matt here as well, to get these 'things'?"

"There's no harm in being prepared." She pointed out. "We're going to give you both ski suits – you can give Matt his – like the ones you had at Point Blanc," Alex repressed a shudder at the name of the school he'd 'attended' and nearly been dissected at, "And he has various other things for you." She paused. "And we'll contact your housekeeper, Jack. From now until the end of your assignment, you won't be able to contact her, or any other of your friends."

"Right." Alex said, heavily. "So, cut off from normality again, huh?" He sighed, when they looked at him, blankly. "Alright. I understand."

"Good." Blunt said, brusquely.

"Alex – watch out for Matt." Mrs. Jones said, quickly. She didn't sound worried for the other boy; more as if this was something she had to say, something routine, something she had memorised.

"Why?" he shrugged. "I thought he was 'just like me'? I didn't need someone to watch out for me." He watched them carefully; Mrs. Jones had definitely flushed a little.

"It's for your own protection as well." Blunt answered, and Alex stared at him. He had never known Blunt be at all interested in his protection. "Green spies can get people killed. There's no sense losing both of you, when we've put so much into you."

"I think you've taken more out of me than you've put in." Alex said, unable to fully keep the resentment out of his voice. There was a moment's silence. "Can I go?" he asked, eventually. "I wouldn't want to keep Smithers waiting."

He didn't wait for a reply.

* * *

And, there you go. Please tell me what you think.

Lol, ami. xxx


	4. Chapter 4

I'd forgotten I'd written this - so, here, loyal fans, have another update.

:D

DISCLAIMER: Sadly, they're just not selling those bookrights.

* * *

Alex headed down to Smithers' office, taking lift to the basement, having been instructed to go back up to the foyer once he was done. He had a strange feeling that he was only allowed to go down to the basement because he had 'business' down there; if it hadn't been authorised, he would never have got through.

Smithers gave him a fat smile as he knocked on his open door. "Alex, old boy!" he said, cheerfully. "Come in." he looked around. "Where's the new boy?" he asked, suddenly, strangely delicate.

Alex shrugged. "He had something else to do." He told him, carefully. "You've got things for us?"

"Oh, yes." Smithers grinned at him. "Now…" he pulled out to rather bulky bags – which read "Abercrombie and Fitch" on the side – from a cupboard, handed one to Alex, and put the other on the desk in front of him. "One for each of you." Alex nodded. "You know what the snow suit and the glasses do, they're exactly the same as the old ones – and I'm sure you can explain it to Matthew." He stopped, pausing again with that same strange delicacy. "Look, old boy… there are some things which I'm only giving to you. Some of these things should only be given to those with experience, I'm sure you can understand that…?"

Alex nodded. "I won't mention it, Mr. Smithers." He told him, politely.

"Excellent, dear boy." He was wreathed in smiles, once again. "Of course, your friend will have nearly exactly the same equipment as you." He delved into the bag, and pulled out a minidisk player. "Jus a more advanced version of that Gameboy you had for your first assignment." He shrugged. "We've developed rather more for it, though." He pulled out a selection of disks, and a thin instruction manual. "Just have a quick read through that, and it should tell you what you need to know." He put them back in the bag, and Alex nodded.

"So…" he looked inside the bag he was holding, which looked exactly the same as Smithers' 'example' bag to him, but was apparently 'his', rather than Matt's, and then looked up again, slightly shocked. "You're giving us _laptops_?"

"Oh, yes." Smithers smiled, happily. "There's so much one can alter with a laptop. Now, I understand your parents," he winked, "are waiting for you, so I won't take you through this, or the phones; you'll just have to read the manual this time, I think." He paused. "Look, old boy, I know you work a little more – hastily – than some, and you might find a laptop a little… slow. But, they are very, very useful." He shrugged. "I've created an MI6 account for you – just for you, the high-ups wouldn't give me permission to create one for your friend – and you can send us an internal email, if there's something wrong – and you've got the time, of course." He smiled, at Alex. "Your username and passport are in the instruction manual. You might have to look for them – encoded, and everything, old boy – but I have every faith in you." He paused, and continued, rather more seriously, "Now, your phone and laptop do rather more than Matthew's. I'm sure you'll be able to be discreet about that, Alex, old bean." He stood, smiling, and Alex took his queue from him.

"Thank you, Mr. Smithers." He said, sincerely.

"Oh, no trouble." The man nodded to him. "Best of luck, dear boy!"

* * *

Alex escaped out of the basement, and headed up to the main foyer of the bank, where he was pounced upon by Armitage.

"Alex." Her voice was scolding, her face anxious. "We were worried about you." Already, the worry was morphing into relieved anger, and Alex had to admit that she was a fantastic actor. "It shouldn't have taken you that long to find the toilet!"

Moreau gave Alex a slow, amused grin. "Honestly, Alex." He said, winking at him, "What have I told you about worrying your mother?"

Alex gave the man an exasperated look, that he hoped looked at least vaguely filial, and was rewarded with a slight widening of the lazy grin on his 'father's' face. Joanna huffed.

"Well, at least you've still got the bags. Matt, take one from you brother."

Matt, who was looking profoundly uncomfortable – inwardly, Alex sighed – but managed to whine, "Do I have to?" in an almost-realistic way.

"Yes, you do." Joanna snapped, indignantly, playing the stressed city mother to perfection in her semi-casual suit, and rather frazzled manner. "Darling, are you don here?" she asked, of Moreau, while Alex handed Matt the bag of his own equipment.

Moreau nodded, slipping an arm around his 'wife's' waist – Alex carefully noted the easy familiarity with which Armitage accepted that – clapped Alex on the shoulder, and grinned at Matt, the picture of an affectionate father. Alex had to admire both of them – for people who'd met the pair of them just a few minutes before, they were giving one hell of a performance. "All done." He nodded. "How about we go for a meal?"

Joanna paused. "I don't know…" she said, rather doubtfully, "I've got a lot to do, Luc, and the boys have still got to pack…"

Luc nodded, slowly. "How about a compromise, then?"

"What do you mean?" she asked, rather warily. Alex didn't blame her – he was a little worried himself by the look of mischief in the man's eyes.

"Why don't we get a McDonalds?" Armitage sighed, but allowed a tiny smile to appear on her face. "We can eat it on the way home…?" he added, temptingly, grinning at the woman.

Alex frowned at the further example of a familiarity that seemed far too real to be simply an act. He couldn't think of a reason a French and an English agent would have worked together before, but he supposed there must have been one; and, after all, it made sense to have at least one real relationship to fall back on.

Armitage nodded, after a brief pause, to consider it. "Alright." She conceded, eventually. "But just this once, OK? It's not healthy."

"Yes, dear."

* * *

'Their' house was very ordinary – a nice, rather modern, four bedroomed house in one of the many London suburbs. Alex was highly impressed by the two agents, who kept up their act brilliantly, all the way from the bank, through McDonalds, and on the bus back home. It was an act he tried to respond, answering as well as he could, or butting into their light-hearted conversation when he felt that he might do so, and just generally trying to act like they were his parents, like the all 'belonged' together. Matt, on the other hand, didn't seem to be giving anything, and Alex could feel a sort of indignant impatience with him. He could have at least _tried_ – though, maybe it was better that he didn't open his mouth.

After the fourth time Joanna told him to 'stop sulking', he snapped, "I'm not sulking!" and turned away. Alex conceded that either he was really annoyed, or he was a very good actor – but it didn't matter either way. It looked and sounded realistic, and it would be enough to convince anyone who might possibly have been watching them.

When the door shut on their 'home', however, both adults dropped the act almost instantly.

"So." Moreau started, slowly. "You two. Who are you? We know your names, but…"

"We work for…" Matt began, self-importantly.

"Matt, think about where they met us." Alex cut across, rather tiredly. "I think they know who the hell we work for." Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Joanna frown, and Moreau suppress a smile. "What do you want to know?" he asked, turning back to the adults.

"How long have you been involved with MI6?" Joanna asked, quietly.

"Nearly a year." Alex told her, quietly, and paused. "Look, I'm sorry, I'm really thirsty, d'you reckon there's anything to drink?"

Joanna nodded, thinking for a second; Moreau stood, waiting for her to come to a conclusion – yet another example of their familiarity. After all, if the man hadn't known her, he wouldn't have known to wait. "Come on." She said, finally, "It might be better to sit down for this conversation – I think we're going to have a lot to say." She looked over at Moreau. "Tea?"

They trooped into the half-packed-up kitchen, and while Joanna put the kettle on, and Alex fetched the mugs, Moreau turned to Matt. "And you?" he asked, quietly. "How long have you been working for them?"

Alex watched, surreptitiously. The boy looked suddenly rather sullen, glanced at Alex with faint resentment, and admitted, reluctantly, "This is my first mission."

Alex turned his attention back to the tea, and noticed that Joanna didn't need to ask Moreau about sugar.

Finally, the tea was made, and they were sat around the table in 'their' bare kitchen, in a rather awkward silence. It was Joanna who broke it, eventually. "How old are you two?" she asked, quietly.

"I'm sixteen." Matt muttered.

"Fourteen." Alex told her, shortly. "How many times have you two worked together?"

Moreau looked at him, eyes suddenly assessing. "Why do you think that we have?" he asked, softly.

"You act like you know each other." Alex shrugged. "And," suddenly and vividly, he remembered Turner and Troy. "It's a sort of knowledge you can't fake." He finished, eventually.

"Yes." Armitage's eyes on his face were sharp. "And you've done this sort of thing before, haven't you? You've pretended to be a family before. Is that what MI6 do with you? Use you as a cover for two adult agents?"

"Not really." Alex looked away. "They leant me to the CIA for a time, and _they_ used me as a cover. MI6 like me to be a bit more – active."

Moreau was frowning. "And you're fourteen?"

Alex frowned right back at him. "Is that going to be a problem?"

"Not at all." The man's voice was easy, but his frown hadn't relaxed. "But aren't you a bit… young? For this kind of work?"

"Yeah, I'm young." Alex agreed, quietly. "No one expects me to be any good, which is precisely why I _am_ so good at what I do. Underestimation of me has led to several people's deaths." He flinched a little from his own cold words. "I'm not proud of it." He admitted, his words falling like pebbles in to the cold silence in the kitchen . "But – it's true. You don't want to underestimate me, just because I'm young, M. Moreau."

The silence stretched for a few, long minutes. Finally, Armitage spoke up. "I think we should talk about our assignment."

* * *

And, there you have it. It begins, dear people, it begins!!#

Lol, ami xxx


	5. Chapter 5

Hmm... this is not the best chapter I've ever written, that's for sure. It's really just exposition, through a long conversation - I promise, the actual _action_ is going to happen next time. I promise. :D

Dedicated to everyone who took their GCSEs recently. I hope everything went well for you all!

DISCLAIMER: Nope. Sorry. Not mine. :P

* * *

Moreau looked sharply at her, and nodded, quietly. "So. Have you read your mission briefings?"

"When did we have time to?" Alex asked, quietly. "We got them just before you came in, and then we left before we had any hope of reading them. Why?" he leant forwards, and looked at Armitage. "What did you want to know?"

She shrugged, cupping her hands around her mug of tea. "We leave for France in four days time – you two can read the briefing, so you know the facts, and then we've got four days to get acting like a proper family." She looked between Matt and Alex. "I've been given profiles of both of you, but… look, I've never done _anything_ like this, but I know damn well that a profile of a teenager is nowhere near enough information to be able to treat him like a son."

"How likely is it that our new house is going to be bugged?" Alex asked, quietly.

Moreau frowned, looking at Alex. "Not too likely." He said, slowly. "It's just a normal house, and Girard has no reason to suspect us. Why do you ask?"

"Because, for the moment, I think we need to focus more on learning the history of our family – grandparents and where we've been, what we've done, things like that. You've already said, familiarity comes with time. Until then, we can at least pretend it, right? So long as we know what we're all supposed to have done together."

Armitage nodded, slowly. "It's a fair point." She acceded, quietly. "Now, as for you two…" She paused. "Apart from cover, I don't know what use you're going to be."

Alex smiled, lazily, as Matt bristled.

"We'll be able to help." Matt told her, indignantly. "We can – we're spies! Not just cover! We can – protect you…"

Armitage just grinned at that, but then Alex leant forwards, and said, casually,

"Put it this way – _Mum_ – you're working at United Steelworks, right? It's a small town – surely it'd be perfectly natural for us to come and visit you, wait for you to take us home, bring you a message from Dad, over there," Moreau smiled lazily at him, "Or from our school, or something. Especially if one of us ends up being a bit of a misfit at school, then we'd have a lot of messages to keep bringing you…" he shrugged. "I'll volunteer for that; not working, getting detention, cutting school, whatever." He didn't want to say what he was thinking – that Matt wouldn't be convincing if he tried to take on such a role – but he could tell that Moreau, at least, was thinking along the same lines as him.

The man gave him another slightly wry, amused smile. "You just want to get out of school."

Alex shrugged, and grinned a bit. "Well, yeah. That to."

"Then, what am _I_ supposed to do, stuck in school all day?" Matt whined.

Armitage looked at him, her eyes assessing him. "Girard has a son, who's about a year older than you." She told him. "You may be in the same year as him, I don't know – but either way, you can try and get in with his group of friends, try and integrate yourself into the family that way."

Matt nodded, looking rather sulky, and Moreau turned to Alex. "There is one flaw with your plan; why would you go and visit Joanna to give her a message from your school which you could easily wait, and give her at home?"

Alex paused. "If I don't go home much?" he shrugged. "It'd be easy for me to run a bit wild, pretend that I'm unhappy at having been moved from my old school, and everything – if I'm not home much, and just drop by to give you," he looked at Armitage, "Whatever message I have from the school, or even just to say that I'm not going to be home until whenever that night, so people in the factory get used to seeing me around…?"

Moreau considered it. "It's not a bad idea…" he gave Alex a considering glance, then grinned suddenly. "I never thought I'd say this to a 'son' of mine, but – try and get involved with the wrong sort of children, eh?"

"Another flaw, though…" Armitage broke in. "If you're involved with the bad kids around the town – well, in a town that size, everyone will know. No one will trust you. The idea of you having difficulty adjusting is a good one, but maybe leave it at that, OK? Otherwise, the moment you do something suspicious, it gets noticed and remarked on. And once we've been there a couple of weeks, maybe start adjusting properly, calm down your behaviour, alright?"

Alex nodded, seeing the wisdom of her suggestion. "Right. What job do you have with the Steelworks, exactly?"

"I'm a plain old paper pusher." She grimaced, light-heartedly. "It'll be fun!" She told Moreau, tartly, catching his grin.

"But are you going to be a conscientious paper pusher or not? Like, are you going to work Saturdays?" Alex pressed.

Matt frowned. "Why does it matter?"

Alex swallowed his sigh. "Because if she works Saturdays, you and I have a really good excuse to bring her messages from dear old 'Dad' here, telling her to come home for dinner, or asking her where she put his skis, or whatever. We all need excuses to visit from time to time, otherwise it's just Armitage doing all of the work information-gathering."

Moreau nodded his agreement. "So, _darling_," he asked, eyes laughing. "Are you going to work hard? It's for a good cause, after all…"

Armitage mock-glared at him. "Well, if you insist." She shrugged. "I guess I could always try and earn a little extra cash for our family."

He grinned at her, but Matt was still frowning.

"I don't get what I'm supposed to be doing, still." He said, the hint of a whine in his voice. "I can't just sit around doing nothing…"

Alex bit back a groan, and hoped he hadn't been this irritating with he was doing his own first assignment. If he'd been this whiny, he wouldn't blame Wolf for acting the way he did during basic training.

"You're going to be trying to infiltrate Girard's home, by making friends with his son." Armitage said, succinctly. "If he trusts you, he might accidentally let something slip to his wife in front of you, or you could pretend to leave something in his house, or really leave something there, and just pop back to get it, and have a quick look around…"

Alex frowned a little himself at that. "Actually – what are we trying to find, while we're there, anyway?"

"Mainly, anything we can that's suspicious about him, anything that can tie him into all the deaths; and we want to know what he's doing with the company at the moment. Once we've determined that, we move out, and let someone else take over clear up." Armitage told him, firmly.

Alex nodded, then said, quietly. "I really don't understand; what's so damn important about a steel company?"

Moreau leant forwards. "United Steelworks' main plant is the one we're heading for, up in the Pyrenees, but it spreads all over the world, and it ships out to several major countries." Alex made a questioning face, and Moreau smiled. "Thing is, as soon as Girard became President of the company, he stopped some of the biggest orders he had with various people – the British, American and French armies most importantly. The thing is, he _didn't_ stop making the products, the weaponry, that United Steelworks had been commissioned to make for those armies, and it didn't experience a drop in profits, either. So, he's been sending those products somewhere, and it's vital that we find out where."

"But why are Britain and France _so_ interested?" Matt asked, sounding genuinely curious.

"It's partly because our armies are being jeopardised, somewhat – and partly to do with the conflict in Iraq." Armitage took over. "We think that he's sending a lot of these things to Iraq, possibly elsewhere, as well… we're not sure. In any case, that's partly what we need to find out – but, even on the off chance, it's enough to get both our countries involved. Britain doesn't want a major company like United Steelworks sending things to our enemies, and it threatens French neutrality, if a predominantly French company appears to be supporting them."

"And the French government can't be seen to have any involvement whatsoever with what could turn out to be gun-running." Moreau added, flatly. "Naturally, we want to find out what is going on."

For a couple of moments, there was silence. Finally, Alex nodded, and said, quietly, "Right. Well, thanks for explaining that – it makes things clearer." He stood, and took his mug over to the sink, then, turning back to the little group, added, "I'm going to go to bed. M'tired." He picked up his rucksack, and was half-way out the door, before Moreau and Armitage offered slightly awkward 'goodnights'. Matt, for his part, just ignored him.

* * *

Alex was lying on the bed in 'his' half-packed up room – he'd been amused, but not at all surprised, to find a box of his own clothes and books and other personal items in one corner of his room – reading the brief he'd been given, and attempting to take it in properly, when someone knocked on the door.

He sat up, and called 'come in', just as Moreau opened the door. For a couple of seconds, the man just stood in the doorway, then he said, quietly, "May I speak to you for a second?"

Alex nodded, rather confused, and the man came in properly, shutting the door, and sitting down on the desk chair.

"I thought you ought to know," The French man began, slowly, "That when Joanna and I were briefed on this mission, we were told to give you seniority over Matthew. I was going to mention that earlier, but – it wouldn't have exactly been tactful, you know? Not in front of him."

Alex nodded, slightly confused as to why the man was telling him this. "Er… oh." He said, finally and eloquently. "Well, um – thanks."

Moreau gave him a slow, lazy smile. "You're wondering why I told you that."

Warily, Alex nodded again.

"Well, mainly I told you because I started to earlier, and I dislike it when people don't finish sentences, or constantly promise to tell you something 'later'." He shrugged. "But then, I also thought it would be a good idea for you to know. If I thought you were going to gloat about it, I wouldn't – but I hope you won't."

"I shan't." Alex said, firmly.

"I thought not." Moreau repeated, and stood looking down at him for a couple of seconds. "You're not what I was expecting, you know." He told him, and was gone.

* * *

Well, there you go then. Hope you liked it!

lol, ami xxx


	6. Chapter 6

(waves) It's been a long time since this was updated! And I did have this on hiatus, but I suddenly got a burst of inspiration for it, so I took it off again. :D

It's a short chapter, as chapters go, but it's up nonetheless and I hope that everyone enjoys it.

DISCLAIMER: Strangely enough, it's still not mine.

* * *

The next morning, Alex woke early – as he always did – and headed down to the kitchen, taking with him his brief on their 'family' and the task they had been given, intending to grab some breakfast while familiarising himself with the assignment.

He had thought the kitchen would be empty, but Armitage was there when he arrived. Apparently, she'd had the same idea – a cup of tea, still hot enough to give off a gentle, but constant, swirl of steam, was clasped in one hand, and her file was open on the table in front of her.

"Alex!" she looked a little surprised to see him, but smiled all the same. "I didn't think either you or Matt would be up this early. I thought all teenagers slept late."

Alex shrugged, rather awkwardly. "I used to." He said, slowly. "But – it's easier not to now." He didn't need to say that it was also safer; they both knew that.

"Of course. What d'you want for breakfast?" the question was genuine enough, Alex decided after a second or two. Armitage shrugged, rather helplessly. "There's not much – we're supposed to be moving, after all – but… there's some cereal, and the toaster hasn't been packed yet, so…"

"I'll have cereal, thanks." Alex said, with a small smile.

They ate in silence for a few moments, both of them reading through the basics of their assignment without finding it necessary to speak. After maybe fifteen or twenty minutes, it was Armitage who finally broke the silence.

"Do you remember what we talked about last night?"

"About how Matthew and I should play this? Yes." Alex nodded. "How about you?" The return question was very deliberate – if she could question him, there was no reason he couldn't return the favour.

Armitage gave him a rather wry smile; apparently, she knew, or had guessed, his reasoning. "I remember. I've been thinking, though – it's all very well for me to play the workaholic career woman, but now that everyone has mobile phones, there's no reason for someone to actually come and fetch me, is there? So I'm the only person who'll be actually in the factory."

Alex shrugged, rather impressed, in spite of himself, that she was discussing this with him like he was a rational adult, rather than simply dismissing him as a child. "Bring your work home with you." he said, quietly. "Or, photocopy anything you think might be useful." He paused. "Also, you know, if I'm going to play a kid who's unhappy at being uprooted, there's no reason why you wouldn't take my mobile phone away as a punishment for my bad behaviour, then send me to fetch you as a further punishment."

Armitage considered his point in silence. "I can deal with bringing the files I work on home with me – that's easy enough to do. But it's going to take a while before we're can be confident enough to send you to fetch me, you know? It's not like this is a little local company we're talking about here; it's a major international steelworks. People don't just send their kids wandering in to fetch their relatives."

Alex nodded. "But then again, we're going to have to wait at least a couple of weeks before any of us try anything, aren't we?" he pointed out, and Armitage acknowledged the point with a nod. "I mean, all of us have to get ourselves accepted, and make sure that our 'characters' are believed in before we can begin on our proper assignment, and no one trusts _that _quickly."

She smiled at him. "You know, when they told us – me and Luc – that we were going to be working with two teenagers, I thought this assignment was going to be hell. You know, never work with children or animals, and all that. But… it might not be so bad."

Alex blushed a little in spite of himself; he might have been a hardened spy, but he still had a teenager's shyness when it came to compliments. "Thanks." He replied, quietly, "But Matt's new to this, so…"

"We'll baby-sit him a bit if we need to." Armitage nodded. "At least we know now that we're not going to have to baby-sit _both_ of you, as well as finishing the job we've been set."

Alex opened his mouth to reply – he didn't exactly know what he was planning on saying, though – when the kitchen door opened to reveal Moreau, fully dressed, dark eyes aware and faintly mischievous.

"Good morning, family of mine." He grinned. "Joanna, my sweet, you look stunning. Alex, I didn't expect to see you up anything like this early."

"I said something like that." Joanna grinned at him from where she sat in her decidedly un-stunning, very practical pyjamas and her equally un-stunning, ratty old towelling dressing gown.

"Obviously, Alex here is full of surprises." Moreau said, as he filled the kettle and dumped some coffee granules in one of the few mugs still left out.

"Obviously." Armitage agreed, straight-faced.

"Just how many times have you two worked together before?" Alex demanded. "You never actually answered me when I asked."

Moreau grinned that same mischievous, rather worrying grin at him again. "I didn't know whether you'd noticed that." He told him.

"Yet you still haven't answered." Alex pointed out.

"Foiled again!" Moreau exclaimed, dramatically.

Alex let his head drop into his hands. "I hate morning people."

* * *

That day was spent 'packing up' the last few bits and pieces; the removal men – from a genuine firm, Alex noticed, absently – arrived to pick up their few last bits and pieces of furniture, and 'their' car was piled high with the last few odds and ends. Armitage had told him and Matt – when the other boy finally got up, at about ten thirty – that they'd be leaving early the next morning, and heading down to Folkestone to catch the EuroStar across to France.

Matt hadn't got any better at acting since the day before, shockingly enough, and Alex overheard Armitage confide, rather worriedly, in Moreau, that she 'hoped an outsider would just take it for normal teenage behaviour'. For his part, Alex just hoped Matt didn't act on any of the delusions he seemed to have about being a spy, and try anything extravagant. So long as he kept his mouth shut, they'd probably all be fine.

The next day, Armitage woke them both early, and hustled them into the car, switching into her 'mother' mode the moment they left the front door of the house, and staying in it all day from then on. Since Alex had raised the idea that their new house might be bugged, they had decided, the night before, to stay 'in character' all the time, unless they were completely sure that they were in a safe place.

After a couple of hours driving, Alex fell asleep, just to alleviate the boredom of it all. They weren't going to be leaving the car when they got to the EuroStar – they had booked a ticket which allowed them to take the car on and simply sit in it during the short journey across the Channel – so they were going to be there for a while. Sleep was the best way to spend the all-too-long journey.

Matt had apparently had the same idea, and Moreau woke both of them several hours later, for a quick meal and a chance to stretch their legs at one of the service stations which lined the motorway.

"How much longer?" Alex asked, in English, unsure as to whether he should speak English or French now.

Moreau raised an eyebrow. "That sounded far too much like 'are we there yet'." He told Alex, gravely.

Alex resisted the surprisingly strong urge to hit the man – apparently, Moreau was one of those people who just had that effect on you. "Well? How much longer until we get there?" he asked, impatiently.

"I think another three hours." Armitage broke in, shooting her adult partner a warning look not unlike that of a put-upon wife. "You and Matt should spend the time trying to get to know each other. You know, build up that brotherly animosity." She ended with a smile which Alex only half returned.

"I think Matt provides enough animosity for both of us." He sighed.

* * *

They arrived at their new 'home' much later than any of them had expected, due to a couple of unfortunate crashes and a blocked junction on the motorways they had been following, and all of them were exhausted.

"Just take in whatever you need for tonight," Armitage ordered them, in French, "We'll unload properly tomorrow night."

Moreau stretched. "D'you want me to head out, and see if I can find us all something to eat?" he offered.

"I'm not hungry." Alex half-whined.

"It'll be our first meal here!" Armitage told him, encouragingly, passing Matt a couple of bags to take in. "Come on, we should all at least have something. It's been a long day…" she held out a bag to him, which he took with a show of reluctance.

"I don't know why I have to have anything. It's not like I want to be here." He grumbled, heading inside. "I don't even like this house."

Moreau called through to him, "Alex, we've talked about this." He followed him in, flicking the lights on. "You'll be perfectly happy once you've settled down."

"I don't want to settle down." Alex snapped.

"Alex…" Armitage reproached him.

"What? It's not like you didn't know that already."

Matt gave him a long, faintly incredulous glance, but his contribution was realistic enough. "Alex. Just shut up."

Alex managed not to stick his tongue out at him, but it was a near run thing. He was tired and cramped – he'd always hated long car journeys – and he felt that a little bit of childishness was acceptable. It was only the desire not to look like a complete idiot in front of the two adults which kept him from actually doing it.

They ate a quick, rather distracted meal, before heading up to bed. All of them were tired, and though Armitage made a show of coming to check that Matt and Alex were settled in their respective bedrooms, it was nothing more than a quick, cursory check. They might be on assignment, but right now, all any of them wanted to do was sleep.

* * *

The next day, Alex and Matt stayed home from the school they were supposed to be attending – the 'Ecole de St. Joseph', near the centre of the little town – and helped Moreau sort out their little house. Joanna hadn't dared miss a day of her new 'job', not when their whole assignment hinged on her keeping it, and had left at eight, to make sure that she was there on time.

The day passed easily enough, and it was certainly useful, if nothing else – all three of them had a chance to cement the way their relationship with each other was going to be played out, which could only be beneficial. No matter how useful it was, however, it was a boring day. The only real interest occurred towards the end, when Armitage got home.

Moreau led the questioning, asking her the practical things, like whether she had an office, and whether she liked it – she told them how to find it – and whether she liked the people she was working with – she told them how difficult she thought each of them would be to win over 'as friends' – and whether her work was difficult – she mentioned that she'd probably be able to bring some of it home with her each night. They were innocent questions with innocent answers, should anyone be listening in, but the answers contained things all of them needed to know.

Finally, though, Armitage gave all of them a grin. "I did find out one very useful thing, though…" she said, slowly.

* * *

And there you have it. Enjoy?

-ami xxx


End file.
